


Jagged Crowns

by reynesofcastamere



Series: Chaos Beta [3]
Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Biting, Blood and Gore, Bloodplay, Darksider!Ahsoka, Exhibitionism Kink, F/M, Hallucinations, Intrusive Thoughts, Mental Breakdown, Multiple Deaths(offscreen except for Sidious), Possessive Behavior, Powerplay, Rough Sex, Suicidal Ideation, Unrealistic Mental Health Treatment, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, smut in the second half
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:47:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27591560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reynesofcastamere/pseuds/reynesofcastamere
Summary: Two different scenarios, in which Sidious is overthrown prior to the events of A New Hope.
Relationships: Darth Maul/Ahsoka Tano
Series: Chaos Beta [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2013616
Kudos: 27





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt for this was ‘Ahsoka helping Maul through his own struggles, since he’s pretty much on the verge of insanity at all times.’ Warnings for: gore, violence, death, intrusive thoughts, mental breakdown/hallucinations, and suicidal ideation.   
>  Cross-posted from tumblr and unbeta’d.

The Royal Palace is littered with the dead and dying, but there is only one that matters. Sidious is still immensely powerful, but his body has grown old and slow, and there are only so many guards he can sacrifice to _protect_ himself. Overcoming his Force lightning, preventing bones and organs from being crushed, protecting their minds from invasion and violation: That is much harder. But finally, finally Maul strikes off the Emperor’s head as Ahsoka’s twin ‘sabres pierce his shriveled, black heart. She steps back. He keeps going, slicing and **hacking** until the throne is in pieces, the floor is a cross-hatch of burning lines, and what was once an Emperor is nothing more than a pile of charred _meat_ and cloth.

“Is this...Am I **free**? No, this was too easy. Master always has a contingency plan.” He does not even realize he is voicing these thoughts, too occupied with searching the Force for something, any trace of Sidious’s presence. ** _Foolish child. You thought you could defeat ME? I know your every pitiful thought, every scheme you concocted while you wriggled, a blind maggot encased in filth._** “Be _silent_.” Maul snarls, fingertips coiled around his anterior horns, palms pressed into his eyelids. “Focus. **Focus**. Search for him, he cannot hide from us.” There is another voice, outside his head, but he cannot hear it. He _has_ to know. Yet despite the venomous hiss that tries to steal away his concentration, there is...nothing. The Dark Side is empty of even the barest wisp of his Master. “Gone. Gone at last. **Finally** I have achieved Bane’s will...” He laughs, long and erratically pitched. Not a comforting sound, or even a sane one.

Wait. There is _something_. He uncovers his eyes and re-opens them. Someone before him, unlit ‘sabres in hand. Another rival apprentice. Another **test**. “Have I not done enough to prove myself?” Maul whispers, disbelieving and enraged all at once. **_No. You must destroy all who would stand in your way if you wish to claim my power. Prove that you are worthy and strike them down!_** “Yes, my Master.” He had dropped his sabrestaff before - _careless, stupid, he could have been killed_ -, but it leaps eagerly into his hand and activates as he begins his assault. He cannot seem to get a clear picture of his opponent, their form shadowed and not entirely solid around the edges. He sees their weapons clearly enough, though, especially when they clash with his own.

His rival is on the defensive, parrying his strikes but not counterattacking. He cannot hear their words past the blood rushing in his ears, infuriated by this **insult**. Is he so _weak_ that they do not even think him worth the effort of a proper fight?! Maul drives them back, seeking to disarm, to maim, to **kill** , but he cannot connect. He resorts to yanking their legs out from under them with the Force, lips curled in a feral snarl as he raises his sabrestaff for the final blow...Then the Light bursts into his mind with the force of a battering ram, and he can feel-These thoughts, this presence, he knows it- _Mine, this warmth is mine, cast from the star forever out of my reach._

Ahsoka Tano looks up at him, eyes wide from exertion and fear. “Maul. Please, stop.” His legs give out from under him, weapon deactivated and slipping from his suddenly-nerveless fingers. He does not know how long it takes for her to come to him. Seconds, or perhaps years, her hands circling his face as their lips meet. He pulls her close, fervent and desperate in his passion. Yes. This is fitting. One last time, before the end.

“You must kill me.” A whisper when they part for air, watching her blink in confusion.

“What are you talking about?”

“I have never fought for your hope of a restored Republic. You _know_ this. You have prepared for it. Sidious is dead and I will inevitably take control of his Empire. Unless you **stop** me.”

“I don’t have to _murder_ you to accomplish that.”

“Ah, so you are content to truss me up like a rabid animal and let your **superiors** toss me in a cage or cut off my head. How _noble_.”

“ ** _No_**.”

“ **Why?** Because you believe that they will not take the opportunity to rid themselves of a long-standing _nuisance_? Or that they will simply **leave me in peace** because our goals aligned temporarily?” He summons her shoto to his right hand, snarling in frustration as he presses it to her left. “You are neither sentimental or naive, Ahsoka Tano. Do not _hesitate_.” For a moment, it seems as if she will go through with it. As if white light and the deep blue of her eyes will be the last things he sees. It is not the nature of the Sith, to surrender to death’s embrace so readily. But Maul has...never been a true Sith, and he is so very **tired**. The voices in his head are blessedly silent, yet it is only a temporary reprieve. Without purpose, without vengeance or ambition, he will _lose_ himself again.

“Stop **running** , Maul.” Her voice is firm, and oh, she burns bright enough to blind him, but he cannot tear his eyes away. Ahsoka takes her weapon from him, sets it down, and entwines their fingers instead. “You’re right. I know who you are and what you can do. I also know you’re capable of _more_ than that.” He cannot breathe. What has she done, to make him feel this way? That there might be hope of being...something **other** than this? “Did you _really_ think I didn’t notice all these years? The small acts of compassion and honour...Palpatine didn’t **rip** those away from you.” She is so warm, so willing to offer up these things he has blatantly denied himself and others.

“A foolish dream.” Maul rebuts, but there is no real strength behind it. His left arm holds her more tightly, both for emotional and practical purposes. He is not certain how much longer he can remain even partially upright.

“It doesn’t _have_ to be. Join me.” Ahsoka offers. “There’s still Vader, Thrawn, and a whole mess of other Imperials to defeat or force surrender from. But after...We can work to build something of our own.” Her right thumb lightly brushes over his cheek. “Won’t be easy, but it’s a chance for both of us to try something different.”

“You will regret this decision. **Soon**.” He points out dryly. There is only so much optimism he is willing to endure, even in this state. She only laughs.

“And you _haven’t_ driven me insane. **Yet**. I don’t expect either one of us to be perfect at this from the start. Just to _try_.” Her hand curves down and around, lightly dragging her nails up his nape and eliciting a low rumble from him. “Aren’t you going to give me your answer?” Her smile cements the fact that she is utterly devious beneath her relatively-harmless exterior and he **will** get her back for this later.

“ _You_. Are an unrepentant **tease**. And I will _greatly_ enjoy administering your punishment.” He growls, both impressed and frustrated by her manipulation. “But I **am** willing to see whether this insane notion of yours will work.” His agreement brings a smile from her, but not before she rolls her eyes and gives a small, exasperated exhale.

“‘Yes’ would have worked fine, you know.”

“And since _when_ have I ever passed up the opportunity to frustrate you, my Lady?”

“Ass. Mmmmph...”

“Care to rephrase that?”

“No. You are the **worst**. But I might be persuaded to change my opinion.”

“Let us see if I am up to the challenge, then.”

This is merely the beginning of a very long, hard road. Yet neither one of them will walk it alone, and that makes all the difference.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is set around 5-ish BBY, so Thrawn isn’t a Grand Admiral yet, but still has a reputation/is fairly high up in the Imperial chain of command. Obviously certain canon events didn’t happen (ie Malachor), and Maul and Ahsoka have been in a sort-of relationship for about a decade at this point. Also, sorry, they didn’t have sex in the throne room. Just makeouts and soul-searching. This is absolutely a starting point. Neither character is ‘cured’ of their various issues/traumas by the end of this installment even if they are being semi-cute and flirty. This is...not what I would consider a realistic way to handle someone being triggered/having a delusional episode, but I digress. *notices that fics that have started with gore or violent imagery have mostly ended in fluff* -_-....Hm...Well, that’s a pattern. Or possibly a problem. Cheers, everyone!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not a continuation of the previous chapter , but rather a ‘same scenario, different circumstances’ deal. The primary difference between the two is Darksider!Ahsoka. So yes, this one is going to be NSFW *cough* for various reasons. Warnings for: gore, violence, death, intrusive/manipulative thoughts, possessiveness, bloodplay, powerplay, biting, mentions of exhibitionism kink and...Look, if two people having rough sex directly after battle while there are still dead bodies in the room squicks you out, best to give this a pass. Cross-posted from tumblr and unbeta’d.

The Sith are _fools_. Locking themselves into a cycle of a beast devouring its’ own tail, gorging themselves even as they lose their most vital components. Ahsoka and her Lord are strong, united in purpose and potency, the Dark Side practically **leaping** to obey their will: As they pull the Emperor off his throne, drag him through the blood and viscera of his loyal protectors, and cleave his decrepit body with their blades until he is so much _burnt offal_. A fitting **sacrifice** for his conquerors. 

Scarcely are their weapons deactivated and holstered before she is upon him, lips and tongues battling fiercely as they negotiate a haphazard path towards their new place of power. Pieces of armour and clothing are nearly torn off in desperate haste until Ahsoka _springs_ upwards. knees pressed against his thighs as he drops back onto the throne. Her hands slide from his shoulders, along his nape, to trace and tug at the base of his posterior horns, a gratifying purr vibrating deep in his chest. 

She pulls back for a moment, just to bask in the image he makes; The terrible beauty of shadow and flame, crowned with sharpened bone. Now a sovereign in truth, not just appearance. Yet even in this moment of triumph, his ghosts will not be **silent**. Especially the old slime-snake.Their multitudes are known to each other, the recriminations, the reckless urges, the eternally-unsatisfied _needs_. And while they cannot **remove** them entirely the voices can at least be _silenced_ for a time.

Ahsoka presses the pad of her left thumb to one of his horn-tips until it bleeds, then brushes it across his lower lip.His tongue darts out to taste her blood, even as she brings the cut digit to her sternum, tracing a rough copy of the symbol that adorns his own. Through their bond she coaxes his metaphysical hands to join hers in wrapping around the venomous shade’s throat. “ _He doesn’t get to have you anymore._ ” She snarls in protective fury, her own gaze infernal with the intensity of it as they **choke** the monster’s whispers down to nothing. One death is not _enough_. She will kill every **trace** of Sidious in her Lord, in the _galaxy_ over and over again until **nothing** is left. 

He loves her. For her spirit, her empathy, for being the one who _stays_ when so many others have fallen or abandoned him. She knows this without Maul ever needing to say the words. It is branded in his eyes, on her **soul** , in every brush of their minds through the Force. She does her best to return the gift of that certainty, the assurance that she is **_his_**. There will never be anyone else. Her hips circle and grind against his as his hands sweep down her torso, stopping to squeeze her waist before fingertips hook into the top of her leggings. He eases them down, revealing her by slow degrees until the fabric pools around her calves. She claims his lips in an eager rush, tasting the faint trace of her own blood as she reaches down to press two of his fingertips deep into her soaked channel with her right hand. The other draws him out, anointing his shaft with crimson liquid. They pant in anticipation, trading bites and shuddering, deep moans, pelvises meeting in teasing slides even as their fingers work in frenzied rhythm. 

“Who do you belong to?”

“ _You_.”

“And who am I?”

“ **My Empress**.”

“ _ **Yessssss.....**_ ” She removes his digits and impales herself on him, effortless and without shame. Ahsoka arches in sheer pleasure as she sinks down to the hilt, kept upright only by the hands that cage her hips. Her current perspective of the room is tilted and stained with carnage, but it is only too easy to envision the near future; Their own guards silent, still, and _longing_ as their rulers writhe and **rut** together. She knows he can see it too, how the thought makes her gasp and squirm. When she meets Maul’s gaze again, it is molten with obsession and lust. They’ve danced with the thrill of being caught before, though never quite like _this_. There’s little need to hide or wait now that they can fuck where-and-whenever they please, within reason.

Ahsoka’s hips circle as her walls contract, keeping him embedded deep within. There’s a slight ridge near the base that’s absolutely **maddening** when it rubs against her clit, she has to fight not to press frantically against it. She wants this to _last_ , after all. Maul has other ideas, though, one hand crushing her against his front as the other digs into her backside. He’s biting repeatedly at her throat, leaving a messy collar of bruises and leaking cuts behind, growling like a feral beast. She claws at him in turn, hissing and keening. It’s **too much** and still not enough until-

“ ** _Come._** ”

She _cannot_ refuse the command, rough and possessive as it is; Dragging him over the edge with her and crying out in sharp ecstasy. But he’s not done, discarding her leggings and boots before turning them. Her spine is pressed against the back of the throne with him kneeling between her thighs, legs firmly wrapped around his hips. He is still hard, twitching and slick from their first climax as he re-enters her slowly. She **welcomes** the burn of the intrusion, the struggle of her overstimulated nerves adjusting to his girth.

He leads her on with shallow plunges, little nips of his teeth to her lekku. It’s deeply frustrating because he knows what she _wants_ , yet when she tries to direct his mouth elsewhere he traps her wrists in one hand and pins them above her head. “You can do **better** than this.” Ahsoka points out, wriggling to try and get more friction, more speed, more _anything_ to no avail.

“Not until you **beg**.” Maul purrs, so close that he might as well be kissing her, eyes and tone heavy with promise. One that he, _of course_ , doesn’t follow through on.

Her heels press into his lower spine in retaliation, watching his eyelids flicker as his breath sibilates between his teeth. “You **really** think you can wait that long?” She hums, smiling as his hips buck in instinctive reaction. It is all a game to them. She could break free or stop him at any time, but she doesn’t care to. And he desires her resistance just as much as her submission.

“ _Absolutely_.” He asserts in a low growl, claiming her mouth with his. They lose themselves in this for some time: Her attempting to spur on his aggression while he toys with her lekku, neck, and breasts.

**Finally** , she decides to have some mercy on him. “Master, **_please_**.” Ahsoka sobs, sounding half-crazed and hoarse. “ _Harder_.” She arches her body and ripples her core in a desperate plea. “I need you to **break** me.” It is enough to unleash the primal creature that lurks beneath his skin, and she cries out when he slams into her at _last_. Maul is all but **violating** her with each searing, forceful thrust and all she can do is plead for him to _keep going_.

An exchange of _yes, more, please, mine, yours, always_ falls from their lips, teeth bared in pleasured grimaces. She loses herself in him, vision blinking between his face and his own view of her. Their tangled thoughts are no less scintillating, fragmented and chaotic as they are. But for a moment, there is a clear vision: An Empire free of the corrupt, the grasping, and the fearful. A galaxy at peace, its Emperor and Empress with heirs both of their blood and taken in by choice. It is **beautiful** , and she knows with every fibre of her being that they can make it a reality before it splinters into a dazzling ring of coloured light and she _wails_...

He is still **pounding** into her, triggering aftershocks that are rapidly building towards another climax.The throne is a **_mess_** beneath them, essence pooling underneath her backside even as their joining only grows more hurried and violent. Her hands are free again, nails raking his back, breath escaping in faint whines and keens while he growls and pants in off-key rhythm. Her cunt is in absolute _agony_ from being forced to take this savage treatment so soon after release, yet she cannot bring herself to stop or even slow down. _So close..._ He bites directly over where she had left a crude approximation of his markings earlier, and she whites out in pain-laced bliss as he **roars**.

Ahsoka gulps down air when she comes back to herself, feeling warm wetness and hard muscle underneath her fingertips. She doesn’t need to look to know that she’s shredded his back to ribbons _again_. They’re both going to need bacta patches pretty soon, if only to prevent infection. Getting their clothes back on wouldn’t hurt either. But not just yet. Not while Maul is kissing her so very softly, approval radiating in the Dark Side and his thoughts. Because she loves him, she will give him this, and all of her, **forever**.

**Author's Note:**

> This is set around 5-ish BBY, so Thrawn isn’t a Grand Admiral yet, but still has a reputation/is fairly high up in the Imperial chain of command. Obviously certain canon events didn’t happen (ie Malachor), and Maul and Ahsoka have been in a sort-of relationship for about a decade at this point. Also, sorry, they didn’t have sex in the throne room. Just makeouts and soul-searching. This is absolutely a starting point. Neither character is ‘cured’ of their various issues/traumas by the end of this installment even if they are being semi-cute and flirty. This is...not what I would consider a realistic way to handle someone being triggered/having a delusional episode, but I digress. *notices that fics that have started with gore or violent imagery have mostly ended in fluff* -_-....Hm...Well, that’s a pattern. Or possibly a problem. Cheers, everyone!


End file.
